


I Think I'll Have The Soup

by liam22



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-25
Updated: 2010-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 17:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liam22/pseuds/liam22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because really, who gets blackmailed into marriage anymore" A solo mission gone wrong, finds Claire stuck at a mysterious circus, after first being brainwashed, and then blackmailed into marriage</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think I'll Have The Soup

**Author's Note:**

> Let's all laugh over this was originally my ficathon idea (the one that I dropped, because I didn't think this would reach the thousand word limit. Since the story was written for the AU Big Bang, it probably would be helpful for you to know that I stopped following canon entirely from the vortex incident. I dropped the characters down in the circus from Susan Elizabeth Philips' book Kiss an Angel instead of the Samuel's carnival. Daisy (and the circus animals) from that book makes an appearance, Samuel has been given a different power, and Claire can get drunk. Major props to my beta Brandie!!!

There are some movies that warm your heart, that make you believe in the goodness of people and the endless power of eternal love.

Trust me; this is not one of those stories.

-

Claire ~~Bennet's~~ ~~Butler's~~ ~~ whoever the hell she is today's~~ life is all set to be a blockbuster hit. She's got the tragic back-story, the perfect hush-don't-tell secret, and a cast of supporting characters willing to jack up the badassery of this movie to epic opening-weekend box office number proportions. And hey, she already lies better than most actresses in Hollywood.

All that's missing is the love story. ~~Hey, you in the peanut gallery, stop laughing.~~

Although looking around at the hippy-dippy circus folk all gathered here today to join us in this Massive Disaster TM, I'd say the missing love story is a solid check in the pro column.

But back to Claire. The poor girl's got enough to worry about without us picking at the script before the filming even starts. We're backstage of the Big Tent at the Sullivan Brother's Circus, waiting to go on. And no, tonight's performance isn't just for show.

Lydia is waiting with us and almost steps on me in effort to get closer to Claire. The meanie of a woman wraps Claire in a half hug she seems too numb to shrug out of. "Aren't you excited Claire? Weddings are such beautiful things." If that is supposed to be comforting, it's no wonder she's not up for any Mother of the Year Awards. ~~Is it too soon to say I miss Sandra?~~

"Did you ever get married?" Claire asks, peaking through the curtain one more time. Inside the tent, the Carnies tried to decorate, but the crepe paper streamers and tissue paper fan flowers speak poorly of their general taste level. They should have let me help. My ~~grooming~~ sense of style is impeccable.

"No. Amanda's father didn't want anything to do with me once he found out what I could do." Sure it was your power, missy? And not, say you're sparkling personality? Don't think I'm not already plotting ways to get back on you for ~~almost~~ stepping on me. "You're lucky Claire, to have someone that accepts you like Eli does."

_Right._

Which one is Eli again? I always get Claire's boyfriends mixed up (not that she's known this current one longer than a week). You know what I'm talking about right. All tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. It's kind of like she's got a complex or something. ~~Daddy would not approve of this, young lady.~~

Oh right, getting back to the story now. I might have missed some of the conversation she was having with Lydia. Sorry about that, easily distracted and all. But the girl doesn't have her something blue or her something old (her something new could be that dress I guess, and her something borrowed has got to be this wishy-washy persona she is putting on right now, because I got to say, I barely recognize her as _my_ Claire.)

Samuel comes by then ~~awh look, he shaved just for this occasion~~. Another "comforting" hand – why yes, I did just use imaginary air quotes – is placed on Claire's shoulder. She looks even more complacent than normal. Not good, I tell you.

I start to protest, but of course, no one pays _me_ any attention.

"We're ready to start now, Claire," Samuel says. She nods like she's one half of a Punch and Judy puppet act. Samuel pushes the curtain open, and oh goodie, there's a spot light. So much for that last minute escape.

Now if you imagine this next part to Chris Brown's "Forever" I'm sure you'll be having way more fun than we will.

-

Oh, you want to know how this all happened, now do you. Really?

Well, you're not the only one.

It seems like just last week Mr. and Mrs. Bennet packed up the car with as many half-useless belongings as they could and dropped their darling daughter off at Cal State. I had hitched along for the ride, because hey, why not.

Clearly, I have no powers of precognition.

Wait a minute. That was all just last week, wasn't it.

Guess the power to tell time is also out of my league.

That must be why the memory of her parents, standing there so proud - little Claire-Bear, finally doing normal teenage girl things - is still clear in my mind. I tend to forget things, you know.

Six hours and a couple of really gnarly staircases later, Claire was neatly unpacked in her single. ~~The Petrelli name carries some weight, even in California~~. Her books had been bought. Her electronics had been set up. All that was left was an ~~omg the tears~~ goodbye.

I'm still not totally clear on why the Bennets didn't bring me back with them. Did they really not know I had hitched a ride? They wouldn't have meant to leave _me_ right?

Either way, Claire finds me playing with the edges of an apparently important folder. How was I supposed to know, anyways? It's not like I regularly sneak into Mr. Bennet's study, as Claire seems to have taken a liking to. She flips through the folder with a speed that makes me think she's already read it before. And by this, I mean enough times to have memorized everything down to the placement of the commas. ~~If her acting career doesn't pan out, maybe she could go into script editing~~.

 

Then, without my knowledge or consent for the matter, Claire whisks me down to her car. I guess freshman orientation could never hold a candle to one of her father's stolen files.

Well now, aren't you impatient? You don't really care how we got here (spoilers: it was a magic compass). You just want to know how Claire ended up engaged, don't you?

Ok, ok, I'll skip ahead to the good stuff now, I promise.

So there we are, checking out the circus, when we met Samuel ~~dun dun dun~~. He's got all this pretty rhetoric about family (as if we didn't just leave behind a perfectly decent one) and acceptance (because blonde cheerleaders are such outcasts). It's bull, really. And I had thought Claire agreed with me.

I turn around, distracted, when an unhappy-looking tiger called out for me to un-cage it (now there's someone who's real accepted). It was only a minute, I swear. When I turn around again, Claire has agreed that we're staying. We're whisked away to our new home, a dusty beat-up trailer that needs an extreme makeover, stat. ~~I'm not really all that low maintenance. Shocker, I know.~~

See, this is where the critics would kill us in the ratings: absolutely no foreshadowing.

Turns out, there really isn't "room" for us in Samuel's ~~dysfunctional family game night~~ family. "But there could be," Samuel said. All the guy was missing is the slithery, forked tongue, that's how slick he is. There's something about that guy, I swear. Stay around him long enough and he can get you to agree with whatever he wants. I don't like it I tell you. Not at all. "If you wanted to be part of our family, you can. You and Eli can start one of your very own."

Eli had been standing there, slightly behind Samuel with his hands in his pockets. He was nodding at every fourth syllable. And his eyes, well let's just say they weren't focused anywhere on Claire that would be considered polite, if you know what I mean. If this was _Law &amp; Order_, he'd be the perfect casting choice for Pervert #3.

Claire nodded like a bobble head on the dashboard of a semi-truck, as if she didn't notice the creepy stare-y guy at all. Did I mention, I don't like what is going on here? Still, Claire ignores any protests I might make and says, "I want to stay. I want to be part of your family." ~~Really? I didn't know ring toss was that addictive~~.

And that was how we got here, engaged to a guy we just met this morning. So yay for advanced planning. ~~Not even enough time for me to get a proper pedicure~~. I'm sure your mother will be real proud, Claire. Do you hear me, real stinking proud.

-

Now back to our ~~ir~~regularly scheduled wedding.

Claire has just completed her walk down ~~death row~~ the aisle, and is now standing front and center of this boondoggle, right between Mr. I Didn't Know You Were A Preacher and Mr. Slightly Less Stalkery (Samuel and Eli, for those of you following along at home). It's not her best angle.

Claire picks at a fuzzy nub in the mostly-white, linen dress Lydia had practically stuffed her in this afternoon (maybe the costume department hadn't gotten the memo, but she is definitely a silk and lace girl) while Samuel tries to settle the crowds down. The circus folk, her ~~awh~~ brand new family, couldn't have cared less about the sanctity of this supposed union. Today, they would get to do the popcorn throwing for once. ~~Now that sounds like fun actually~~.

Nope. Nope. I'm not falling into that trap. As the only other member of Claire's family here ~~and Sandra's favorite~~ it's my duty to protect the Bennet family interests here. And since it's obvious that I won't be able to stop it – slightly overdramatic sigh – I might as well make the best of it. Stiff upper lip, and all that.

Now, you there, set up a video camera for me. Sandra is going to want to see this.

Chop, chop. In positions. There might not be an organ, or a minister, or a thousand yellow daisies, but this is still a wedding, people. Act like it.

"Friends, family," Samuel starts. What is it about that word that is beginning to make me feel sick? Not the best Pavlovian response, let me tell you.

Sorry, sorry, I forgot I am trying to be accepting for a moment there. Won't happen again, ~~most likely~~ I promise.

I'm not sure if I can say the same thing about Claire though. For a minute, I thought she looked a little nauseous and maybe like she wanted to bolt. ~~'You go girl' is so last century, right?~~

Samuel continued, "…today to join this man and this woman in blessed matrimony…"

From where I stand, I see that Claire has closed her eyes. No one else notices. They probably don't even care. But maybe, maybe if she closes her eyes, wishes enough, ~~and clicks her heels together three times~~, she'll figure a way out of this. Or maybe, we'll end up back in her bed.

"…This occasion marks the celebration of love and commitment with which they will begin their lives together…"

Say it with me now, 'there's no place like home', 'there's no place like home', 'there's no place like home'. ~~Where's the prop department with magic deus ex machina shoes when you need them?~~

"…Through marriage, Brother Eli and Sister Claire make a commitment together to face their disappointments – embrace their dreams – realize their hopes – and accept each other's failures…"

'Failures' is right. ~~Darn, I'm really failing at this being supportive thing, aren't I~~. Ok, time for Plan B. I spin around a couple times looking for an escape route. And I've got…nothing. You know that cannot be up to fire code.

Instead, there's a ruffling behind the curtain ~~which I suppose, if memory serves, I should be paying no attention to~~. Claire's eyes pop open, and I can't help myself. I must look as well. She holds her breath. She's not the only one. Her eyes follow the hint of a shadow as it creeps closer to us. In doing this, we both completely miss the fact that Samuel has moved on from the blessing to the most important part...

"…and if anyone has any objections to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace."

The shadow behind the curtain moves once more. ~~The theme to Jaws is playing in my head~~. The curtain opens by itself, but that could just be my overactive imagination. A tall figure – a basketball player, no wait, a Claire-sized midget on stilts – steps into the light, just enough so we can see its face…

(Drumroll, please.)

No, wait. You can stop.

It's only Sylar.

-

It turns out there's a good reason why movies don't follow that closely to real life.

Most of the time, there's nothing going on; it's boring, monotonous. Then something like this happens.   
And really, what audience in the world is really going to buy it?

Because really, who gets blackmailed into marriage anymore? This isn't a Diana Gabaldon novel.

-

Of all the people who might have come to rescue us, I can assure you Sylar was at the absolute bottom of my list. There's her father (both of them actually), her favorite uncle ever ("Awh! My hero!" – sorry if my Claire impression is a little rusty), even the oh-so-silent one (even if we have been a little low on wind chimes as of late). I'd even put that yappy flying kid (who has unfortunately not accidentally flown into a jet engine yet) higher on the list of potential Claire-Saviors.

I know for a fact that the last time they saw each other – don't give me that look, I know you've eavesdropped before – that they didn't part of the best of terms. Although that is a particularly odd turn of phrase to use on a convicted almost reformed serial killer. Between you and me, the reformed thing is kind of in question. See, Angela's got this real ~~sick~~ interesting sense of humor, for she partnered up Mr. Bennet and Sylar almost a year ago. I haven't quite figured out yet who she was punishing.

Sylar partnered with Mr. Bennet all the time, inevitable meant that he'd have to spend some time with Claire – time I mostly spent avoiding the sharp objects they like to throw at each other's heads, thank you for asking. I mean, it's better than it used to be, I'll give them that one. Even since Sylar saved Claire from what was apparently a Spiny Vortex of DOOM (trade-marking this one too), they've stopped actively trying to kill each other, and moved into the "I still hate you, but you're going to be around for a while so we might as well at least try to play nice" stage of their oh-so-twisted relationship.

(Watching them try is better than watching daytime soap operas with Sandra any day. Hence my previous statement: Claire's life would make a great movie.)

Still, the last time they saw each other… well that was one doozy of a fight. They screamed so loud about who was to blame over the death of who-really-cares that I was afraid the good crystal was going to shatter. Sandra spent all of the next week trying to clean a whole bunch of other weird stains ~~you should be so glad you don't know the origin of~~ off the ceiling. Yeah, I know. Neither of them have very good aim.

-

"I've got one giant objection." Sylar says.

Objection? Oh yes, we are in the middle of a ~~I feel cheated; there's no shotgun~~ wedding.

Sylar apparently has missed all the lessons on proper breaking-up-a-marriage etiquette because he stalks from the back of the ~~church~~ circus tent, up to the pitifully put together alter to pry Claire away from Eli. Pauline Phillips is cringing in her grave right now. "Claire's mine. No one else gets to marry her but me."

Ok. Yeah, didn't see that one coming.

Guess this isn't a rescue then.

Sylar artfully dodges Claire's stomping foot, but can't avoid her well-placed elbow. Why yes, she has been studying up on her self-defense since he last saw her. Not that it's doing her any good in this situation.

He leans down and whispers something harshly in her ear, but all I hear is "with me" and "kill them all." I guess it doesn't much matter what he said, only that she looked like someone just stuck a hot metal poker up her spine. I would have thought she would have said something, objected in some way, but there I go being all wrong. Again.

(See, this is why I want a more offensive power; not that I can do anything in this situation either, but still like Christmas it's the thought that counts.)

"No. Samuel promised her to me." Eli looks one step away from stamping his foot on the ground. The copies of himself that suddenly surround us are a much better idea on his part ~~much less like a temper tantrum~~. No wonder Samuel had to find him a mate.

"Why Claire," Samuel says, a little too gleefully for my taste, "it seems like you have two suitors." And neither wanted, lucky her. "Now gentlemen, how should we solve this dilemma?"

I vote that Claire should be giving out roses ~~or hand grenades~~. We'll put dramatic pause music on in the background. The audience will be on the edge of their seats. You know, except for one tiny little detail; it still doesn't seem like Claire gets any say in this at all.

I feel slightly vindicated; it seems Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Violent Sonofabitch aren't paying any more attention to Samuel than they had to Claire. No, of course I'm not laughing.

"Claire's my reward."

"Well, Claire and I are destined to be together. Both being immortal and all."

I'm getting tired of listening to Eli and Sylar argue. Can't they practice their _Geico_ commercial caveman act somewhere else? I mean seriously, we're really going to do this? Why don't those two just get out measuring sticks? I guess 'crash the wedding, get the girl' is this year's 'save the cheerleader, save the world'. It doesn't quite have the same advertising power though, if you ask me.

"Claire doesn't like you."

"She doesn't even know you."

"Well, I've never tried to kill her."

Oh yeah, I forgot they we're still arguing. The special effects show takes precedence any day. A couple multiples of Eli appear – now isn't that one creepy power – but they don't do anything more than stand there and look ~~like they belonged on To Catch A Predator~~ almost menacing.

"You could never keep a woman like Claire satisfied."

"Please, you couldn't keep a woman at all."

To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure who's talking here. I've been on keep Claire from passing out duty for the last couple of minutes. If this devolves into Yo Mamma jokes, I am so out of here.

More multiples appear of Eli, rushing forward Bears offensive tackling style, only to be thrown back by Sylar. Most of the multiples were only thrown into the crowd, but one managed to be flung far and hard enough to impale itself on one of the flower decorated tiki torches before disintegrating. The look on Eli's face afterwards, man, it was completely worth the price of admission.

Claire was standing there, hands on her hips, rolling her eyes at the boy. ~~You can't tell me you aren't as well. I mean, really~~. It's the least passive I've seen her since she got us to this soul sucking place. Here's hoping she wakes up from that fog. I rather want to go home.

Samuel reaches out for her. Geez, he is going to do that creepy hand on the shoulder thing again, isn't he. No, please no ~~if only I had fingers to cross~~. Sylar is faster, though. He drapes an arm around her shoulder and pulls her so close she might as well be sitting in his pocket.

"Brothers, brothers," Samuel finally interrupts. Told you he'd make a crummy preacher. "Let's settle this like gentlemen." I can guarantee you that he's not talking about a pistol duel behind the big tent.

Shame really.

Samuel doesn't join in the fight ~~he's probably afraid to get blood on the rented preacher's robes~~. He does however snap his fingers. Oh, I'm scared now. Simply shaking in my booties.

Two men step forward. Bringing out the big guns now, huh. ~~I didn't know Michael Bay directed weddings~~.

Sylar has got them beat, hands down. Flames shoot out of one hand, knocking the icicles thrown at him clear out of the running. When Sylar's flames direct themselves at Bouncer Number One, he defuses into a slushy puddle of something close to water.

Me? Well I cower in the middle, between the two 'heroes' of this story. No shame in admitting that. Not all of us can afford to take a knife to a random (but oh-so-necessary) limb, you know.

Bouncer Number Two, a special with super speed whom Sylar still fights through all of this, didn't so much as blink. He must have been real certain that one of the knives he is throwing would eventually hit his target, instead of being thrown in the other direction. He isn't all that happy that it hasn't worked yet. ~~Guess he's never fought Sylar, King of the Jungle before~~.

But then Bouncer Number Two ~~signs his death warrant~~ and actually hits something – Claire, to be specific. I howled in shock at the sight of the knife sticking out of Claire's stomach ~~awh, poor Lydia -- that hideous dress is ruined forever~~. Sylar whips around, a murderous expression on his face – you know, the one he gets when he's not killing for powers, but for bloodthirsty revenge. I've only seen it once before, and let me tell you, that was enough.

Claire must recognize the look as well, for her hand shoots out to stop his and the desperate words, "Sylar, wait, no," tumble from her mouth. But that look wouldn't be stopped.

Lighting shoots out of Sylar's fingers, bouncing off the flying knives to send tiny crackling sparks throughout the tent. Hopefully, he has the presence of mind to remember control; the place we are in does have a metal support structure, after all. The main lightning bolt is aimed at Mr. Throw-y Knives and he becomes a human x-ray. He staggers for a second before falling. Still, he doesn't give up, and every last bit of energy he has brings him up off his knees. As cool as that is, I still find it hard to believe that man wasn't hanging on close to death. He makes one last charge, knife in hand, running right at Sylar.

I want to close my eyes, I really do ~~or at least watch past my eyelashes~~. Bouncer Number Two stumbles within spitting distance when Sylar reaches out to touch him. Sylar doesn't need to pull a knife out of any orifice. You can breathe a sigh of relief.

But Bouncer Number Two can't.

He has been turned to solid gold.

~~Well, at least we'll have a way to finance the wedding now~~.

Claire is mine." His hands ~~snap, crackle and pop~~ with lightning, this time aimed at Samuel instead of Bouncer Number Two or Eli. The forgotten crowd goes completely silent for the first time since this whole thing cropped up. "And I'm willing to take down anyone in my path to claim her." Sylar raises a hand and sparks of lighting come way too close to the metal support structure. Really now, is that necessary? Isn't the gold statue standing between us evidence enough of your take no prisoners attitude?

Samuel laughs, mighty nervously if you ask me, "Well then…You may kiss the bride."

To the victor go the spoils. Or maybe more appropriately, the Academy Award goes to...

(No seriously, you can stop clapping now. It's just Sylar.)

-

Some girls spend their whole childhoods planning their weddings, cutting out pictures of flower arrangements, and trying on dresses before the boyfriend ~~if they even have on yet~~ pops the question. They are wedding crazy on such a scale that there is even a TV channel practically dedicated to the madness.

Claire's never been one of those girls, no matter how many times her mother told her that she'd end up marrying someone beyond perfect who would compare her eyes to the color of Spanish Moss and give her kisses that would make her toes stick to the ground. Claire really isn't her mother's daughter that way.

(Me, well, I always figured there would be singing animals.)

Still, Claire's blink and you'll miss it marriage, leaves a chalky feeling in her mouth.

-

(Live from Cirque de Freak, it's Saturday Night!)

Behind the big circus tent, there are rows and rows of trailers. The bigger ones towards the front are mainly offices and dressing rooms. Once you get past those – hypothetically of course, the area is guarded against non-Special access – the main living trailers fan out in a semi circle, with the area in the middle of the horseshoe looking like it came straight out of a Jeff Foxworthy joke. Someone, probably Lydia now that I think of it, decided that this common gathering area would be the perfect spot for the post ceremony celebrations. ~~And to think I once thought no advanced planning was involved in tonight's disaster~~.

The wedding reception is a little too Robin Hood "Eat, Drink, and Be Merry" for Claire's taste, and the thought of Sylar in tights sends her into peals of unwarranted laughter. His hand tightens around her upper arm. She can't make herself stop.

~~You know, a properly planned Dora the Explorer themed party would have been just as classy~~.

He half-drags her through the crowd gathered around the trash can fire to what looks like to be a poker table with dinner set up on it. I'm finding it hard to keep up with them. Damn that man and his long legs.

Over the noise in the crowd, I can only hear part of their conversation. "… go yet?"

"No."

"I want to get out of here…" Claire snarls something else that I miss when I swerve, making sure not to get stuck between the bearded lady and her fire breathing friend.

"…we'll talk about this later." Sylar stuffs a sandwich in his mouth, completely ignoring the mildly annoyed look on Claire's face. I would have thought she would have reacted…well, I guess just _more_. Sylar doesn't seem to care. But, he tosses me a half a sandwich before walking away anyways. Mmm, ham.

"Screw him," Claire mutters, taking a sandwich of her own off the pile. She started to nibble around the crusts; geez, she was even eating timidly. "What does he know anyways?"

She's torn between sulking on the outskirts and joining in, I can tell. She's got her mouth scrunched up and an arm wrapped around her stomach. Not quite the picture of a blushing bride. Not quite the picture of a former cheerleader/homecoming queen, either. But that may just be me. Certainly, no one else has noticed Claire's odd mood. They haven't even come over to invite us in on the celebration yet. ~~It's like living among a bunch of heathens, I tell you. Sandra would be appalled~~.

Lydia is dancing with her daughter right by the fire pit. They look happy enough that I wouldn't mind joining in, even though everyone knows I don't dance. Samuel and Eli have apparently forgotten the disappointment of losing her faster than it took for them to challenge Sylar to a show of strength on one of those bell dingy things. All around us, people are dancing and laughing and drinking. And right next to me, Claire is fading away. ~~It totally figures; she can't even be leading lady in her own movie~~.

Although now that I think of it, why would they come over here? A friend of theirs got killed, gold-ified if you will, all because he got a little too close.

Hmm, now this I have to do something about. Claire's nothing if not social.

I wait, watching the crowd. A plan had to come to me sooner or later, right.

And then it did, in the form of Daisy, the animal trainer who showed Claire around that first day. I'm just as shocked as you are. And as much as I'm not a fan of anyone that enthusiastically featherheaded, I'm afraid she's the best shot we're going to get tonight. A ~~not so~~ subtle tug a Daisy's skirt sends my mopey friend smack dab in the middle of her field of vision. There isn't a way to ignore us now.

Ha, I win.

"Claire, what are you doing all the way over here?" Daisy asks.

"Oh, you know…" Actually, we really don't.

"You don't want to join us?"

"Well…"

"Oh come on, have fun with us." Daisy hands her a glass of god know what and ~~because this isn't an afterschool special~~ Claire gulps it down, before allowing herself to be pulled into the middle of the mayhem.

Seven, eight, ~~maybe twelve~~ glasses later, and she doesn't remember joining in on the dancing. Some kind of techno beat is thumping loud enough that my heart feels like it is pounding along in time. She's practically swallowed up by the crowd and I lose sight of her except for brief flashes of white and red.

Her arms fling up, she throws her head back, and finally she looks happy ~~if not so high she could barely spell her own name~~. Eh, what harm could have come to her anyways, the invincible girl? It wasn't like I'm the only one watching to keep her safe.

I bet she doesn't remember twirling around with Sylar so fast that she thought she was going to hurl. Or laughing so hard at his attempt at the Macarena that breathing became optional? Not with the way drinks kept getting pushed into her hands.

And she definitely doesn't remember passing out and Sylar carrying her back to their sort of brand new shared trailer. ~~Over the threshold and everything, how romantic!~~

Some scenes are always cut out during editing.

-

Someone get some smelling salts. Sleeping Beauty is too cliché.

Even for one of my movies.

-

She wakes up bright and early in the morning, practically cocooned in her bedding, as if this is Halloween and she is going as an enchilada. What? You weren't really expecting a hangover, were you? And while a few of the mattress springs poke into her back in places, she's comfortable… maybe even enough for a couple extra hours of naptime.

Mmm, naptime. Now there's an idea I can get behind.

But, a bang in the kitchen (which is really still part of the bedroom, this being a trailer and all) ruins that dream. Claire's eyes fly open. She bolts up in bed. I'm not too sure it's the sudden memories of last night, or the half naked serial killer burning bacon in our kitchen, but suddenly, it doesn't look like she is so sleepy anymore.

There goes my nap.

Claire clutches the blankets around her even closer, not that he could possibly see a speck of skin lower than her chin. It's the point of it all. She's only wearing a pair of underwear and socks. Or at least, that's what I can conclude from the miss-matched pile of clothes on the floor.

She wants to ask. She really, really does.

~~She's also considering screaming and throwing things~~.

Sylar decides to speak first. ~~And here people say he is the smart one~~. The first words out of his mouth are "you were extra frisky last night." He waggles his eyebrows as if it were some kind of joke. ~~Throwing up just leapfrogged to the top of that list~~.

"You took advantage of me." Her reply is almost whispered, but then again, I've got pretty good hearing.

At that moment, it doesn't matter that he'd been her father's unlikely partner for three years now, or even that he and Peter were actually getting along, ~~both sure signs that that the apocalypse is soon approaching, just putting it out there~~; they are just Sylar and Claire. I could practically see the old arguments rising to the surface. Whoever came up with that phrase 'some people never change' was most definitely talking about these two.

"Can't take advantage of the willing sweetheart," Sylar replies, so smug that all I want to do is take him down a few pegs. ~~Preferable in a whack-a-mole game~~.

"Why you…" Claire starts, letting out a string of curses that would make a wannabe rapper look up to her as a role model. Sylar just grins.

"Pretty much, babydoll."

There is an alarm clock next to the bed, one of those old fashion ones that you have to wind up. One minute it's sitting there minding its own business, and the next it's lying face forward in Sylar's attempt at an egg white omelet. It's a really good thing this isn't a sports movie; Claire's got no real ability to speak of.

"Now, that wasn't very nice."

"Like you even know the first thing about nice!"

The alarm clock starts ringing, shaking back and forth in the half-cooked egged mess. Neither notice.

-

When Sylar picked up the power of super hearing, he should have thought to pick up a matching power that would allow him to be selectively deaf.

It would have made the middle part of this story a lot more bearable for him.

-

The screaming is so bad now that I'm considering hiding under the bed. Only the knowledge that no one has dusted this place since god knows when is keeping me where I am, with my ears firmly covered, of course. Don't give me that look; there's nothing wrong with wanting to avoid dust bunnies bigger than you are.

"No one is coming, Claire. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?" Sylar voice is so low and dangerous that I almost wish he was screaming. "There's no one to save you this time. There's only me."

Angry tears prick behind her eyes. She knows he's right.

Now I can understand nobody coming after Claire. She's a big girl. She can take care of herself. ~~This current situation, notwithstanding~~.

But what about me? You can't tell me Sandra hasn't noticed that I'm missing.

Claire leaps out of bed at Sylar's last insult. ~~She's never been able to stay still when the two of them fight~~. At least she has the presence of mind to tug on a shirt first. Sylar watches the line of her bare back as it disappears, just a bit of a hungry look in his eyes, if you ask me. I wonder if Claire notices that the shirt she's pulled one does not belong to her?

"How dare you!"

"How dare me?" He's livid, he really is. "For what? For telling you the truth?" The sarcasm of the statement is so thick, Claire's mouth turns up in a snarl. "Or maybe for taking what is rightfully mine." Claire does her best imitation of a growl. "We did get married, or did you forget?"

_Completely_ the wrong thing to say.

Claire, still swearing, picks up the pan of eggs this time – they've taken on a burnt smell; even I wouldn't touch them anymore – and flings the pan at his head. "Trust me, I've tried forgetting!"

The pan doesn't reach its intended destination, floating back to the stove right before it hits Sylar's shoulder. Egg pieces, however, go flying everywhere, sticking to the cabinets and ceilings. I'm not quite fast enough to get out of the line of fire. "You'd rather be married to that other guy then?" Sylar grunts out.

"Anyone is better than you."

Really, honey? Now that's low.

Claire's response prompts Sylar to lob the half-filled egg carton in her direction. Now I'm not the only one who needs a good bath. Too bad this honeymoon doesn't come complete with a spa package.

"Oh, that does it. I want a divorce!" Funny how she didn't ask for that sooner. "And I want as far away from _you_ as humanly possible."

"Well, that's too bad."

"You can't keep me here. You can't make me stay."

~~I'm holding up on applause sign on the sidelines~~.

"I think I can." Lucky for us, this declaration is not followed by another obstinate show of powers. Last night was enough, thank you very much. "You did vow to _obey_ me."

Why yes she did – in a make-believe church, in front of a fake preacher, and overseen by a crowd who couldn't give a damn. Somehow, I don't think their sacred union will hold up in court. It wasn't like I could sign off as a witness or anything, either.

"You couldn't get me to obey you if…"

Sylar steps forward, and for every step he takes, Claire retreats twofold until he has effectively backed her up against the bathroom door, all the way at the rear of the trailer. I skitter a bit to be right there in the action with her. Emotional support and all, you know.

"You better watch what comes out of your mouth next, babydoll. I'm planning on taking it as a challenge."

"I'd like to see you try." The Swedish Judge gives her extra points for bravery – even if, personally, I'd take a major deduction for common sense.

Sylar takes another step forward. Claire's back is up against the door. She can't go anywhere. He braces his hands on either side of her head, leaning down so their noses touched. Claire doesn't flinch, not that I can see.

"I bet I'd rather enjoy that," Sylar mutters.

"Mmm, I'm sure." Claire tips her head upwards. Her hands leave their spot, splayed up against the door, to run up his bare chest. ~~Eww, they aren't going to kiss are they?~~

Then she pushes. Hard.

It's a move that takes even me by surprise, as Sylar tumbles backwards. He lands on his ass, but I don't have time to savor the look of surprise on his face, as I quickly follow Claire into the bathroom. She quickly slams the door behind us. The lock clicks into place, even though her hands are shaking. She braces all her weight against the door, ~~as if the action alone is enough to keep him from blowing down her little straw house~~. Guess she wasn't so brave now, huh?

"Why you little…" I can hear him grumbling on the other side of the door.

His hand smacks on the door hard enough that the whole place rattles. Oh, we are so going to get it. I start counting the number of ways he could easily get inside here with us; (1) telekinetically slam the door down, (2) melt the door, (3) walk right through the door, (4) transport himself inside…

My mental list is interrupted with another bang on the door.

"Don't think we're finished here!" The shout of Sylar's warning is enough to make Claire jump. But now that he can't see us, I suppose it's ok. The front door slams. It's our new prison's home's only exit considering the damn thing was practically a metal box on wheels with only two windows. Neither are in the bathroom. Neither are large enough for even me to escape through.

Claire waits for a few minutes, probably long enough for her heart to slow down and her breathing to catch up, before she tries to get us out of there. The door handle does nothing more than jiggle in place. Of course. This day ~~and to think it's still morning~~ couldn't get any worse. She keeps trying, because really, locked in a bathroom, what else is she going to do?

-

*whistling theme to _Jeopardy_*

Maybe now would be a good time to sneak out for a refill of soda.

Hey, and can you pick me up some Junior Mints while you're out there?

-

Trailer Bathroom, One Week Later – Can't you just see that rolling across the bottom of your movie screen? You got to picture it with the typewriter sound effect and some frantic techno beat. It makes it much more exciting.

Because I've got to tell ya, being trapped in a bathroom so small that when Claire sits down on the ground, her feet touch the opposite wall, you kind of run out of things to do real quickly. In fact, there should be a sad clown appearing over my shoulder any minute now.

I guess it could be worse.

I could be stuck on Sylar's side of the door, not able to have properly bathed in a week. As soon as Claire realized we would be stuck here for ~~more than a scene change~~ a while, she set about to getting all the egg cleaned up off of us. There isn't much in the bathroom, only a sliver soap and motel shampoo in the shower, but it's better than nothing. Claire didn't exactly have the foresight to pack a weekend bag when she originally set off on this little venture. I, for one, am glad that her toiletries aren't in here. Can you imagine how bad the smell would be if she decided to repaint her nails in this tiny postage stamp of a bathroom? ~~OSHA would have a conniption fit~~.

And it's not like we've being starved either, ~~good thing, otherwise I would so be on strike right now~~. Sylar has been feeding us by phasing a plate with two ham sandwiches never eggs through the door at every meal. I'm beginning to think they're all he knows how to cook. Not that I'm complaining in the very least. ~~If only he phased a TV in too; now I'm way far behind on _General Hospital_~~.

So, it was a week of staring at the walls, and picking at the cracks. Actually, it was only a few days of this before Claire picked up a used toothbrush and started attacking the weirdly colored mold that was growing everywhere. You remember my reaction to the dust bunnies – this is so much worse. Now the place is as spotless as if Sylar had nuked it out himself. Almost ~~worth using~~ as good as new.

We're patiently waiting for dinner – you know, bored again now that the cleaning is done, and it's not like Claire has the _biggest_ attention span in the world – when instead of dinner, there is a knock on the door.

"Ready to come out now and act like an adult?"

Say 'yes,' Claire. Please. It's a little insensitive, I know, I know. But really, what does she expect? It's Sylar. I really hope she's not considering sulking any longer. I'm about to go stir crazy.

-

When Claire was four, she told her mother she was running away to join the circus. Her mother had stupid, stinky, Lyle to take care, and he _always_ got to play with her favorite toys. She waited until nap time, stuffed her favorite teddy bear and a half eaten box of cookies into her backpack, and slipped out the always unlocked back door while her mother was folding clothes.

She only got as far as the park – even though it felt like she'd been on her own forever - before her father found her playing in the sand underneath her favorite slide. It's the kind of foreshadowing that leaves a painful lump in her throat.

She wondered if they were looking for her now.

-

Claire sighs. "Will you let me out now?"

I guess the anger has finally drained out of her. She looks way too worn out for someone who got up from a nap only a half an hour ago. The door opens and I bolt out. Neither will let me outside the trailer yet. But, I run from side to side, taking advantage of the additional yardage. Man, I needed this.

Claire hobbles out of the bathroom a little slower. There's a sheepish look on her face as Sylar hands the sandwich right to her this time. "You want to talk?" she asks.

"And ruin the mood of our gourmet dinner?"

Claire gives him a half smile. I suppose after a week of solitude, any kind of humor ~~even Sylar's~~ would be graced with a smile here. ~~Told you she is a social person~~.

They set out a plate for me as well before chowing down on what I can assure you are most definitely not gourmet sandwiches. They eat in silence. Once only crumbs were left, Claire comments, "You know, I really need to teach you to cook."

"I can cook."

"Those eggs you made last time don't count. You could probably smell them burning from Texas."

Now ain't that the truth.

And then, they are back to staring at the wall. Guess neither knowing how to bring up what is sure to be another awkward argument.

Don't worry, boys and girls, this is why they're paying me the big bucks. If there's anything I know, it's how to direct a good fight. Let's get started, shall we?

It's showdown time. In this corner, we have the Amazing Invincible Girl, and in the opposite corner, the All-Powerful Stalker Extraordinaire. Ding, ding… And go.

"How soon can we get out of here? Get rid of this ridiculous marriage?" Claire finally asks.

"Why babydoll, you're hurting my feelings. Don't you want to stay in happy magic circus land with me forever?"

He had better be joking. Somebody tell me he is joking.

"The name is Claire." Oooh, now she's getting aggravated again. I can't see why, it's not like she doesn't know about his propensity for nicknames. I won't even tell you what he calls Nathan. ~~Ok, ok, maybe later~~. "And can't we have a serious conversation? For once?"

Oh honey, even I know the answer to that one.

Sylar raises an eyebrow, as if to say, 'right, whatever you say'.

~~Am I getting tired of saying 'I told you so'? No, not really~~.

"I would like to go home."

"You don't want this to be your home?"

Geez, how many languages can I tell you 'no' in. Even without the rainbow mold and the dust were-rabbits, I still wouldn't live here.

"Come on, Sylar. The circus? Even you aren't this much of a freak."

Ding, ding. That's a point for Claire. (Claire – 1. Sylar – 0.)

"It's offering a place for everyone to fit in," Sylar says with way too much fake cheer. Guess we found ourselves the next ShamWow spokesman.

"Cut the crap. Why the hell are you here?"

Sylar leans forward on his elbows, his eyes narrowed at her. "Why the hell are you?"

Actually, I'm really interested in this question as well. It would be nice to know I didn't get stuck here on the whims of a girl who is going to forever look like she could be the poster child for _barelylegal.com_.

Claire sighs. She's got that look on her face like she won't be able to get out of this one without lying. "I came to investigate," she says, with a self-depreciative roll of her eyes, "I found my father's file…"

"He blamed me for that file missing," Sylar interrupts. He is smirking like he always knew the truth. He didn't take the blame for her on purpose, did he? That would have been weirdly nice of him. Like 'you've just crossed over into the _Twilight Zone_' kind of weird.

Guess I have to give that one to Sylar – at least for the way Claire is gapping at him.

And the score is tied up. (Claire – 1. Sylar – 1.)

"I found the file," she continues louder, as if he hadn't bothered to speak at all, "I came to warn them. You guys are always locking up people before finding out what really happened."

I can feel the Swirly Vortex Guy Incident tm hanging heavy in the air between them. Guess I was wrong. These two really can have a serious conversation.

"You know these people are doing really bad things, right?" Sylar asks. He drums his fingers against the table top. He must hate this 'sitting still and talking' shtick. He's much more of the John McClane action figure type.

"Do you have proof of that?"

"I'm getting it, why do you think I'm here?"

Sorry kids, hometown scoring. That point goes to Claire as well. (Claire – 2. Sylar – 1).

She's still not satisfied. "What kind of bad things?"

"Samuel is holding people here against their will. Your father thinks he might be using mood control to create an army."

"You're holding me against my will. Does that mean I get to lock you up in a cage?" Her voice is tinged with enough fake innocent to make both me and Sylar cringe.

"Claire," Sylar growls. He's showing a remarkable amount of restraint in not strangling her right now, if I do say so myself.

"Oh come on, you can tease, but I can't?"

Ding, Ding. Final Bell. Claire Bennet for the win.

Claire – 3. Sylar – 1.

-

The details always seem so much easier in the movies.

Complicated science procedures are done in minutes. Plans come to people right away. Movie characters never have to wait for anything.

I could use a little bit of that magic right now.

-

"So what's the plan?" Claire asks, leaning over the table. She should watch her body language. She's reading way too eager here.

"What do you mean 'what's the plan?' I can't get you involved."

"I'm here. I'm already involved."

Joy among joys. By that logic, I'm involved too. I don't know about you, but I'm not cut out for this crazy secret agent stuff.

Sylar sighs, running his hand through his hair. Geez, he thinks she's actually talking sense, doesn't he? What is this world coming to? "You father is going to kill me?"

"Before or after he finds out we got hitched?" Claire jokes. They both chuckle, as if sharing a joke I'm not in on. They've yet to bring up the things I'm most curious about: is Sylar in contact with her father and does he know we're here?

Claire gets strangely serious again. Instead of getting an answer to my question, she asks, "Why marry me? You have so much power. No one is even a close match for you." Oh, I'm sure he doesn't need that ego boost, honey. "You didn't have to go along with it, if you didn't want to."

Sylar doesn't answer right away. That's how I know he is telling the truth. I'm sure he could have flipped dozens of nonsensical responses off. But he doesn't. It's like he doesn't want to answer at all. "Does it really matter?" he finally says.

"Of course." Claire leans forward again, her head in her hands. And then she stares – one of those great 'I'm gonna break you like a twig' interrogation stares she learned from her father. "You didn't want to get married, did you?" she accuses.

"Of course I didn't want to get married to you," he scoffs, getting up from the table. Awh, are the wittle serial killers feeling hurt?

Wait…He's not leaving again, is he?

Come back. It was all Claire. I'm not making fun of you ~~that much~~ at all.

Please don't lock us in here again.

"We'll finish this later," Sylar says, all gruff and not looking at either of us as he leaves. "I have to get back to work."

To his credit the door only bangs a little as he leaves.

-

After that, things get better. Sort of. It isn't like June Cleaver domestic bliss or anything. Claire would probably try to strangle Sylar with her string of pearls if he ever wandered in shouting, "Honey, I home! What's for dinner?"

Mind you, after all that's happened, I really don't want to think about what this story would look like if things had actually gotten worse.

I might have had to change the title to Saw XIV: Revenge of the Psychopaths.

-

Claire doesn't immediately go out to join the rest of the circus after Sylar leaves. She isn't that curious about what he meant by 'work'. She must have more gumption than I do, let me tell you, because I swear I'm chomping at the bit for a spot of fresh air. ~~Oh to run along the grass and be able to chase things again. Heaven's out there I tell you~~.

Which is why I'm still not completely sure why Claire insists on cleaning up the rest of the trailer before going out to explore.

I follow Claire around the circus. She weaves between booths – one with milk bottles here and another one with slowly deflating balloons over there. Lights are flashing and bells are dinging everywhere.

Ooh, look a life-sized stuffed Shitzu. Now that is just wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Win it for me?

Fine…next time then. But you owe me one.

Now where did Claire wander off to? Geez, I turn my back for one second and she can't help but get into trouble. ~~I swear, sometimes I think she is the one that needs to be kept on the leash~~.

Samuel has got his claws into Claire again. He's standing over her, both hands on her shoulders, like he is trying to convince her of something ~~like taking up a knife swallowing act, or some stupid shit like that~~. It doesn't matter what exactly; Samuel's involved, so it can't be good news.

"I'm so happy you've decided to be part of our family," I hear Samuel say as I make my way through the crowd to where they are ~~blocking traffic~~ standing.

"I am too."

LIAR.

"But you know Claire, if you really wanted to be part of this family, you would join us in the act."

What? Is this one of those 'those who don't work, don't eat' kind of things? 'Cause I got to tell you, Claire, she's not eating too much right now to begin with.

Claire nods that stupid 'whatever you say, Master' nod, she's so recently developed. It's sickening really. Even if working for a change might be a nice distraction from the monster she's got waiting back home. Shouldn't she be trying to assert some free will here? I mean, come on.

"I would like that, yes," She says with one more bob of the head. I'm considering playing whack-a-mole with her, if she doesn't stop that.

"Excellent!" Samuel pulls away from her and claps his hands.

She's wary again. "I don't have to be like a circus act, do I?"

Oh dear, I can see it now. The horrible costumes. The spandex. The sequins. I'm having heart palpitations. I'm starting to feel faint. ~~Someone dial 9 and 1, and wait for me to tell you to dial the other 1~~.

"No, no," Samuel shakes his head and beckons us to follow him ~~so said the spider to the fly~~ "I have the perfect job for you."

We wander through the crowd some more, passing Lydia and Daisy, who both shoot Claire what I guess could be considered an encouraging look. ~~I'm getting the feeling I should just have you dial that 1 now. It's probably going to take the ambulance a while to find the circus that doesn't exist~~.

Apparently, the _perfect_ job for Claire involves goldfish, ring toss, and a booth right across from Eli, the maniacal multiplying man.

Lovely.

-

If this was one of those split screen movies, you know like _24_ style, you would have seen Sylar breaking into Samuel's trailer. The lock on the front door is relatively easy to jimmy compared to the one in Samuel's desk. You would have seen Sylar riffling through papers, until…jackpot. ~~In my head, he breaks out into a celebratory chicken dance~~.

I wish I could tell you what he found.

But how would I know? It's not like I was there.

-

Ever since I made the mistake of following Sylar that _one_ afternoon, I've been spending my days hiding out behind Claire's oh so fixed ring toss booth. The fish might smell a little funny, but hey, at least Claire doesn't spend her days trying to get me to jump through a hope. ~~I'm retired from the whole Westminster training circuit now, thank you very much~~.

Today, Claire seems more bored out of her mind than usual, like I'm kind of expecting her eyes to turn into giant hypnotizing swirly things and her brains to start running out of her ears any minute now. It's all 'this is your brain on fairy floss fumes'. Scary, scary stuff.

See honey, this is why you should have stayed in school.

Eli is watching us a little too closely, or at least he is every time I dare to peak out from behind the table. ~~And here you thought Gabe has that stalker-vibe~~. He comes over, clasps her hands in his, and tries to pull off 'Best Friend of the Year'. He's got a long way to go, let me tell you. ~~A bath might be a really lovely start~~. "I'm so glad I caught up with you," he says.

We're not.

Claire makes a little noise of surprise that Eli must take as agreement ~~didn't know he was blind, deaf, and dumb as well as stupid~~, because he continues on, "I wanted to check up on you," Oh, did you now? That's…comforting. "Wanted to make sure everything is agreeing with you?"

Right. I'm sure that's why you're over here Eli.

"They're…well. You know," her voice trails off and her eyes dart all over the place ~~not very inconspicuous, mind you~~ trying to find anyone who can get her out of this conversation. It's like a poor man's _Where's Waldo_.

"This is your home now, Claire," he says, and Claire tries her best to suppress a shiver. "I want you to feel comfortable here."

Here's a thought: Personally, I'd feel much more comfortable if you LEFT US ALONE!

Sorry, did I get loud there for a minute. Sandra is always saying that it's not polite to raise my voice.

"Yes. Of course," she mutters. "I do."

Right. Maybe he'll buy some beachfront property in Arizona as well.

"Things are going well then? With your new…" Oh come on, you can say it. "…husband?" His head bobs and Claire tries to step away, if only a little.

"Yes. Yes. Of course." Awh come on, Claire. A pet shop parrot has a larger vocabulary than you right now.

Clearly, I need to go over her lines with her later.

-

You know what I don't understand?

Pacing.

It is such a worthless activity. I mean, really.

If you want to burn calories, go for a real walk. It's not like pacing is 'recommended by nine out of ten doctors' to dramatically reduce worrying about pointless shit.

If I keep watching Claire going back and forth on the three feet of already-threadbare-enough carpet in front of the bathroom door, I'm going to be sick myself.

What in the world does she have to be worried about anyways?

Sylar is taking care of all the hard, actual work-type stuff. We're just here as his beard.

-

It's at a gas station bathroom right outside the Jericho city line that I finally find out what has been eating away at Claire.

She can't remember the last time she had her period. I can't remember the last time she ate.

All I can do is gape at her. If this isn't the place for crazy life changing revelations then I don't know where is. ~~And afterwards we can pick up a serial killing axe murderer to take home with us - Oh, wait…~~

The cashier leers at her as she makes her purchases. Guess the Cosmo and the bag of treats she picked up aren't enough to distract him from her third ~~shoplifted~~ purchase. His eyes don't even glance up from her breasts long enough for him to notice that, technically, we haven't paid for the box I'm holding.

"Do you have a bathroom?" she asks in the sweetest voice she can muster. It works like a charm - Must be all that practicing she does on Sylar – because the cashier hands over the keys to a bathroom marked "Employees Only" without even blinking.

I wish I stayed outside. My feet stick to the floor with every step. She's bent over, all her weight leaning against the leaking sink, and to tell you the truth, she is starting to look the color of the mold growing around the base of the toilet.

The last time I had seen a box like the one she is holding…well let's just say it was a while ago. And Sandra had looked a lot more over the moon to be opening it. Somehow I don't think this situation is going to be getting the same reaction (a huge spin around hug and a celebratory dinner at IHOP) out of Mr. Bennet either.

Claire unwraps the box with such shaky fingers that it falls to the ground twice before she can get the white stick out. I won't go into details after that, because, eww gross!

"No. Please. No." She keeps repeating this over and over. I'm starting to miss the pacing.

We should have picked up an egg timer as well, because seriously, that was the longest five minutes of my life ~~and Sandra has made me sit through Twilight…twice~~. She turns the stick around in her hand.

Negative.

She sags back against the cement wall in relief. But not all of us were so excited. Little kids _are_ supper fun to play with.

She's up a few minutes later, wiping what I really hope aren't tears from her cheek. They have more color than I've seen on them in the past few weeks. It's a good thing -- I was starting to get worried she might be turning albino on us.

Claire leaves all the evidence behind ~~she has so been spending too much time with Sylar~~. Her fingerprints are wiped off all the surfaces, the stick and matching box have been thrown out. And for good measure, she locks the bathroom door after setting the trashcan on fire, courtesy of the lighter she lifted from Eli earlier. Don't you dare say she isn't thorough.

We sneak out the side door before anyone notices. My budding pyromaniac friend over here laughs the entire time.

-

Hmm, I can see it now…

Claire's bouncing a colicky baby on her hip, trying to sing the little devil to sleep. But it's not working, (hasn't since she started the process when the parasite in question decided it wanted to impress us with its show of great lung capacity at three o'clock this morning). Claire is close to tears herself.

"I swear if you don't stop crying I'm going to put you up for adoption," she threatens, at her wits end.

"You say that every day, babydoll. And you've yet to leave us on the side of the road yet," Sylar tells her, ambling into the way-too-small-for-three trailer. He scratches his beer belly and spits. "Dinner ready yet?"

She's too exhausted to even think about throwing the frying pan at his head.

Ok, ok. So, I guess it's a good thing she's not pregnant.

It always looks so much more glamorous in the movies.

-

Eli is waiting for us at the back gate when we try to slip back in. So much for going unnoticed.

"Where were you?" he asks. The edge in his voice makes me take a step back, but for once Claire isn't willing to be cast as the shrinking violet.

Her eyes lift to his and meet his stare just as mean. She dangles the plastic bag in front of him like a taunt. "Out. I needed supplies."

Ooh, the plot thickens. Looks like Eli isn't going to back down either. "Did Samuel know?"

"He supposed to?" she throws back, borrowing a tone that all 'I've been hanging out with Sylar way too much'. "Didn't know I was his ward?"

Ward? Really?

You say tomato, I say prisoner.

Eli ~~and a few silly looking multiples~~ are in full glower mode now. It's kind of funny how everyone pulls the 'my height is intimidating card' on Claire. "Have you seen Gabriel?"

Wait, _Gabriel?_ What did we do, joining a cleansing cult?

Claire mimics my look of surprise before laughing in Eli's face. ~~That's twice today, a new circus record, wowwy~~. "Nope."

"You're sure?" Eli threatens again.

Positive.

He's probably out doing something ~~diabolical like gluing captions to cats~~, but I'm sure that isn't the answer these two _upstanding gentlemen_ want.

Samuel joins us before Claire can answer in the negative. Again.

"Claire." He's happy to see us at first. He even reaches out to hug her. But I can sense the moment something changes, even if Samuel is trying pretty hard to hide it. "You were out?"

Ha! Hate to say I told you so, but…prisoner.

"I needed something." Oh geez. Suddenly Claire is all Weeping Willow again. That has got to be one hell of a special power. ~~Wonder why Sylar hasn't tried to get his hands on it yet?~~

"Well, of course." He nods, but I'm not buying it. Not one bit. "Maybe next time you should go with Lydia." It's a _little_ more than a polite suggestion.

"Sure. I just didn't want to bother her."

Samuel smiles down at her, and now I'm the one who's starting to feel a little green. At my urging, Claire starts to walk away.

"Wait, Claire," Samuel calls out. She freezes ~~hands up, we've got you surrounded~~, but doesn't turn around. "Have you seen Gabriel lately?"

Why do I feel like she should be asking someone to read her Miranda Rights?

-

Think we can advertise on Craig's List to find Eli some new friends?

I'm getting tired of Claire being his personal red stapler.

-

If you thought this afternoon was awkward, you might as well just go and hide under a rock right now. I wish I could. This is always the part of the movie I like to fast forward through.

Claire is fixing me a sandwich between shows when Sylar pops in. The cocky bounce in his step stills when he realizes that Claire is studiously ignoring his presence. There's no 'Hey, dirt bag. Ever hear of bathing?' or 'Samuel and Eli are attempting to stalk you'. Claire didn't even turn around and glare at him. If she is going for nonchalant, it's certainly not working.

But I'm not going to spill. Pinky Promise. With sprinkles and extra cherries on top.

Sylar leans up against what is passing for a kitchen table. I wonder if Claire can feel his glare on her back. It's certainly creeping me out from this angle. Claire sets down my sandwich, ~~mmm, can I be excused for a sec? ok, where were we?~~ and immediately gets set on cooking…well, it seems like everything in freezer.

Honey, I'm sure even the Food Black Hole over there ~~did I mention, he is still staring~~ isn't _that_ hungry.

"Whatcha making?" he asks just to make her more jittery. His fingers drum against the table. I wonder if she knows she's cracking eggs in time to the beat he's keeping?

Claire makes some kind of noncommittal noise. Sylar's eyes narrow.

God, I don't know how much more of this I can take. I mean, this makes the bathroom argument look like a spat over whose turn it was to take out the trash.

There is no way he doesn't know. No way at all.

He is _Sylar_, after all.

"Claire," he draws out. I'm getting flashbacks of the night came for the kill. ~~It doesn't matter that déjà vu flashbacks are en vogue; this is not how I would have chosen to film this scene~~. I hide out of the line of fire, as Claire continues to stay silent. If the shutters draw themselves shut, if Claire grabs a knife and hides out in another small space, I am so out of here. "Something you want to tell me?"

"No," she says too fast for any of us to actually believe. Her fingers slip around the pot she was holding, and when it crashes against the bottom of the sink, she flinches.

"Claire." He's far too serious for my liking. ~~Ten bucks says there is bloodshed~~.

"It's nothing."

Well, I guess that was kind of the truth. In a really screwed up kind of way.

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be ready to jump out of your skin any minute now." As much as I'm sure he wants to see that, he looks worried.

"I'm not pregnant." She finally burst out, turning around with her hands on her hips.

Sylar does an amenable impression of a blow-up doll ~~I don't think I'm alone and saying that I think I like him better when he isn't speaking~~ before the gaping turns into a semi-intelligent answer. "Well I would hope not. It sure would blow our cover when I kill whoever knocked you up."

What? I only said _semi¬_-intelligent.

"As fun as it would be to watch you try to kill yourself..." She doesn't get any farther before Sylar interrupts her with a long string of swears that would surely knock the rating of this supposed movie up if they were repeated.

Picture a light bulb going off over Sylar's head, you know, cartoon style. Now picture that light bulb exploding like Iran's missing nuclear weapons were being hidden in a pre-1980 Mount St. Helens. That's Sylar's face right now.

-

In another world, I could see the two of them with a kid. A little boy probably, with Claire's blonde hair and bright-eyed enthusiasm. And Sylar would be the kind of father that would wake up early to make smiley face pancakes.

In another world, maybe, they would have been a happy family.

Just not in this one.

-

"Me?" He says low, murderous. "You thought I got you pregnant?"

"Well, yeah. Who else would it be?"

"I don't know, how about someone you actually slept with?"

Hey now, be nice. You don't need to make the poor girl feel stupid. At least for my sake; I am the one who will have to deal with the blow-back, after all.

"Oh please," Claire rolls her eyes and refuses to back down. "That first night. Remember?"

Now who is being mean?

Still, Sylar denies it. "No."

"You took advantage of me." She's like three seconds away from beating him over the head with the frying pan that was still sizzling away on the stove, ~~you know, at least in my head~~.

"Nothing happened!" Sylar swipes his hand through hair in good need of a cutting. He looks torn between rupturing volcano face and something I've never seen on him before. Gosh, it couldn't be… no, never. What am I thinking? Sylar doesn't do _regret_. Or even worse, _sad_. "Why would you even think that, Claire?"

"But you said…"

He cuts her off with a laugh that holds no humor whatsoever. "I say a lot of things, Claire. It's kind of my thing."

Yes, we've noticed.

They stare at each other from opposite sides of the trailer, both completely silent for once. Claire's stuck in place; there's no blocking for this scene. It seems like ~~the cleaning crew~~ someone took an Oreck vacuum to the tension in the room. The fight is just poof.

Sylar sighs and his head drops. This look I know. And I know this is going to sound weird to you, but it is most definitely 'hurt'. I've seen it enough on Claire to tell. Sylar heads towards the door. He can't stand to be here anymore. ~~How's that for a fight of flight instinct~~.

His hand pauses on the handle, and without turning around, he says, "Nothing happened that night. I slept on the couch." Oh gee, thanks for telling us that _now_. Couldn't have mentioned that little nugget beforehand, and say, have saved me from a week of isolation in the bathroom?

~~Yes, I am still allowed to be angry over that~~.

"But my clothes?"

"They were all over the floor when I woke up. You must have gotten hot in the middle of the night." It's such a succinct ~~not to mention unfortunately PG~~ explanation that Claire can only gawk at the back of his head as he walks away. "You assumed. And I was angry with you, so I let you believe it."

"But…"

"Claire, you have to know… I would never…" He admits this so softly, I can barely hear it. Claire looks as stunned as I feel.

~~Now who's trying out for the role of Prince Charming~~.

-

You know what? I'm starting to think I should take up macramé. Compared to trying to follow the canon of this messed up relationship, macramé would almost be an almost worthwhile hobby.

…

Fine, fine. I'll finish.

But you owe me one.

-

Claire's in no mood to participate in the final performance of the night. Lydia has to practically force her into her costume. "We need you, Claire. You're an integral part of our circus family." That makes sense, I guess. It's not like they have anyone else willing to stick their head in the ~~I suspect he's rabid~~ tiger's mouth.

"Do I have to do this tonight, Lydia?" Claire tries to plead again and again, all the way to backstage of the tent.

Lydia scoffs. "You've already made Samuel mad enough for one day."

Oh, we've made _Samuel_ mad, have we? What about how mad he's made me? Huh?

Why does no one seem to care what I think?

Claire must be thinking of how mad she made Sylar today, because she doesn't so much as protest as Lydia shoves her into the spotlight.

I'll have to ask Claire later how she managed to get through that performance. Her smile might have been off to anyone who cared to notice ~~I did, and I'm pretty sure Sylar did too~~, but her tumbling was spot on. And her flaming knife juggling while riding on horseback, I've never seen it look better.

The whole thing was a string and gum miracle, if you ask me. And thank goodness for that.

Daisy comes bouncing up after the show and the two of them walk back to the dressing room together. "Great performance tonight, huh?" Daisy says.

"Yeah," Claire mutters, her head still somewhere back in our trailer ~~or maybe even back in that damned gas station bathroom~~.

"The crowd really loved us!" Daisy's playful mood only makes Claire more despondent. "Oh come on, you can't tell me you weren't having fun."

"Most fun I could have without going blind." Claire says, extra heavy on the sarcasm.

Blank stare.

Of course.

Claire collapses down in front of the mirror, but doesn't make her usual attempt to remove the three layers of shellac stage makeup. The spangly strap of her costume droops low on her shoulder and she doesn't move to fix that either. Neither does Claire notice the sad turtle stare Daisy levels at her through the mirror.

"Ok, spill it." Daisy asks, tapping her fingernails against her folded arms.

"I'm fighting with Sylar."

Daisy laughs. "When aren't you?"

Very good point, young annoying one. If she is going to pick up the task of smacking some sense into Claire, I might have to reconsider the fact that she's still on my 'no invite' list.

Claire gives us a shrug, and some kind of non-committal grunt ~~that says she's been spending too much time around Sylar~~. "Eh, you know…"

"Yeah, I do actually." That I could see; the two of them are pretty loud. "You fight. You make-up. You fight while making up."

_Well_… the first and the last are true, at least.

Claire shrugs again, and Daisy must take this as acquiescence, for she continues, "How amazing is the make-up sex?"

Hey now! Stop that. If I could snap my fingers in front of Daisy's face, I would.

Claire's blushing brighter than I've ever seen. "It's… it's not really like that."

"Oh no. You cannot tell me that man is bad in bed."

"I wouldn't know," Claire mumbles.

"Claire Bennet!" ~~It's Grey now, thank you very much~~. "Why not?" Daisy's reaction is almost spit-take funny.

"Come on, It's _Sylar_."

"Exactly."

Why do I feel like this argument is going around in circles?

"Look Daisy, there is too much bad blood between the two of us to ever...do that."

She cocks an eyebrow. "But you've thought about it, haven't you?"

Technically, yes. I've still got sticky, germy, public restroom feet to prove it. Granted, I don't know _what_ she's thinking on the topic. We gone over the 'me not being psychic' thing already, right?

Claire looks down, blushing again. _Where are those Emmy winning actress skills when you need them girl?_

"Ha! You have."

"It's not like that," Claire insists. _I'm having a Hamlet moment, are you?_

"So then why do you look like you got possessed by the spirit of Eeyore?" Daisy almost whines. Ok, I take it back; she's not allowed near me until she stops being so in Randy's words pitchy. There is only so much my delicate ears can take.

"Did you just make a Winnie the Pooh reference?" A voice from behind them answers for Claire.

Well, color me surprised. Look who it is.

Sylar is leaning up against the doorframe, ~~all shirtless~~ still in costume and ready to be ogled. He looks like he belongs on the cover of one of those books Sandra keeps under her bed and is going to whitewash away our memories of this afternoon. For me, at least.

Claire's head pops up and she can't help but quip, "Did you just _understand_ a Winnie the Pooh reference?"

Apparently, it is just that easy for Claire. I'll translate it for those of you following along at home, but it's pretty much _'I'm sorry._' and _'me, too'_. ~~Not all that much is lost in translation~~.

"Get dressed." Sylar says with a troubling smirk Claire can't help but match. "Something warm. And preferably flame resistant."

"I'll be right out," Claire says, and the two share a conspiratorial nod. I'm sure Daisy thinks something dirty is going on, and really, who can blame her? ~~I bet you think something dirty is going on too~~.

But I'm not going to ask. I keep telling myself this, over and over. Because even though I'm here, I can really do without getting in the middle of whatever mess those two are planning. Full stop.

I'm sure curiosity has killed a lot more than the cat.

Daisy's eyes follows Sylar's backside as he walks away. Once he's probably not out of earshot, she says, "You're wrong. It's like that. It is so like that."

-

I don't follow them. ~~We've got the night crew for that~~.

Because, if I'm sure of anything, it's that Sylar wasn't joking when he mentioned 'flame resistant'.

I'm sure Claire will catch me up later. ~~Last time on _The Young and The Insane_…~~

-

It isn't until a quarter past three when then two of them amble back ~~home?~~ into the trailer. Blood is matted in Claire's hair ~~not to mention, the remainder of Sylar's jeans~~, but she's looks long past healed. They're both covered in soot and that pink sheen of brand new shin. There's a spark of lightness in her eyes though, so I guess I can't be too mad at Sylar for whatever trouble he got Claire into.

"That was…"

"I know."

Hey, don't do that. Tell me what's going on. Pretty please?

"Think that will take care of it?" Claire asks, starting to peel off what look likes to be the remains of Sylar's favorite lumberjack shirt and what used to be a pair of jeans. Sylar's singed attire is quite a bit worse for wear, ~~but he's smart enough not to strip down in front of us~~.

"I'm fairly certain." His dark eyes follow Claire's every movement a little too closely. Claire, for her part, does nothing to discourage this.

That's an interesting development. Now I _really_ want to know what happened.

I'm pouting and no one is paying attention to me. Not fair. Next time I get invited for poker with the elephants, I'm not going to tell you what happened either. So there.

Why yes, I am sticking my tongue out right now. Not that either Claire or Sylar have bothered to stop their conversation to notice my little hissy fit.

"And then we can get out of here?"

"Patience, babydoll, is a virtue."

"Well, I know you don't mean one of mine." This makes him laugh, and he teasingly backs Claire up against the bathroom door.

"I don't know about that. You didn't screw up too badly tonight."

Her back hits the door ~~which has now officially seen more action than anyone else in this room~~ and she looks up at him through her eyelashes. "Well, you weren't being insane tonight either."

"I could say the same thing about you." They both grin like crazy at each other. Weird.

They weren't spending a whole bunch of time around the Samuel the Mood Ringleader were they? 'Cause really, that would explain a lot. ~~Either that, or they really did inhale~~.

"You know," Claire says, looking up at him. Now it's her turn to tease. "Daisy says we would fight less if we…you know."

"Yes, I heard that part of the conversation." Sylar leans down closer to her. I wonder who's going to call bluff first.

The easy money is on Claire.

"And you're not acting on it, how unlike you?"

Or…not.

"Why? So you can yell at me the next morning?" He inches ever so slightly closer. His hands grip her hips, pulling her up on her tip toes. Their eye-level is almost even.

"No."

"No?" His voice is smoky as he replies.

"What do I have to say?" Claire smirks, a bit evilly if you ask me. What exactly was going on here? "You may kiss the bride."

That's all the invitation he needs. His mouth claims hers with all the urgency ~~but none of the delicacy~~ of a first kiss. I'm not sure I should tell you anymore. It got a little private for a minute. I close my eyes, but not soon enough to escape the view of Claire pulling what was left of Sylar's shirt over his head. ~~Where's the black 'censored' bar when you need it?~~

With eyes still closed, all I hear is the shuttering of breaths, signifying the main event was over. "Go take your shower, Claire," I hear Sylar grunt before the bathroom door closes.

He's asleep on the couch ~~or at least pretending to be~~ by the time she comes out.

-

She can't get the thought out of her head - ~~sex with~~ Sylar - is stuck there like a bad cliffhanger. If only she knew the ending. Then, maybe she'd be able to get the way he tastes like rancid beer and how he is way, way more handsy than she normally likes her fuck buddies to be, out of her head. ~~But that is neither here nor there, since they're neither buddies nor fucking~~.

So she's kind of curious. Who wouldn't be? You've seen his hands.

-

The next morning, Claire and I are setting up her booth for the day when Daisy bounces up.

"So I've been thinking about your…" And she looks around faux secretively, as if she is auditioning for the next Mr. Bean movie adaptation. "…problem."

"My problem?" Claire's more than a little bit skeptical. It's a feeling we share.

"Yeah, your _problem_. I think I've got a solution to stop the fighting."

"Oh please, Sylar and I will never stop fighting."

~~Oh good, maybe that will give me enough material for a sequel~~.

Daisy continues as if Claire hadn't even bothered to answer. "You're going about it the wrong way. Trust me on this one. "

"You and Sylar are having problems?" Eli's way-too-eager voice butts into the conversation.

You know, Eli, I'm pretty sure you're the only problem around here.

"No." Claire insists loud enough that a few loitering clowns send funny looks in our direction. She tries to duck away through the crowd, but both Daisy and Eli follow her. ~~Get a few of the clowns to follow, and we'll have our own flying geese V formation~~.

"This is really none of your business," and "Trust me on this one, I've got the _best_ plan every," and "Because all you have to do is say the word and I'll straighten him out _real_ good," mix up in my head as they all try to talk over each other.

"Guys."

They don't listen to Claire; now talking so loud and so jumbled that I can't make out what they're saying. Charlie Brown's teacher had a better chance of being understood. That's probably for the best, now that I think of it. Still, I wish they would be quieter. As much as Claire doesn't mind crowds, I doubt she wants to be in the center of this one.

I can see Sylar at the corner of my eye. He looks more like he is more likely to burst out laughing instead of coming to help. Thanks for the help.

Claire turns, throws up her hands in completely frustrated, and shouts, "Stop it! Both of you!" They both make sounds of protest, but Claire won't hear it. "Now, I have work to finish, so if you guys wouldn't mind leaving me to it?"

She walks away before they can answer. I follow close behind.

~~Sorry, guys. We have to go wash my hair~~.

-

There are some fights you just don't want to get in the middle of. The proportion goes up steeply if, like me, you're living with two bat-shit-crazy people.

Take this one, for example:

"Why is there a mirror over the bed?"

"You said you wanted me to help out with home improvements."

You know, I think after we finish making this movie, I should go into couple's counseling. I've certainly seen it all.

-

The circus drops down for the day in some small town in northern Oklahoma. I'm not really looking forward to tonight's mud show, but such is life ~~or at least mine is now. I'm even starting to get over my thing with dirt~~. Don't tell Claire though, she might want to start joining the show with them. Shutter.

Anyway… by the time we drop down in Oklahoma, it's become almost impossible to stay out of the clutches of Daisy and Eli. There is only so much ducking and disguising we can do. Even the clowns are onto our games, which really begs the question, why are there so many freaks in this circus? ~~Don't answer that~~.

Daisy is getting more cunning, as much as it pains me to say it. When she finally corners Claire, with Lydia's help of course, there is no way for us to get out of Daisy's spidery trap. The girls had gone as far as to get permission from Samuel for this little field trip. Which means, if Claire protested even in the slightest, Samuel would be all over us with questions. It's not the most productive thing for someone running an Underground Circus Overthrowing Mission TM, let me tell you.

So while Sylar is getting all sweaty ~~I know, I'm as devastated as you are for missing it~~ helping setup the big tent, Claire and I are strolling down the air conditioned cool aisles of - wait for it - Victoria's Secret.

"This is your plan?" Claire asks Daisy in complete disbelief, as she's being tugged through the store. "Somehow I don't think buying lacy panties is going to make me want to stop fighting with Sylar."

Oh, honey.

"But if he sees you in them," Daisy shoves of matching sets, in all colors of the sherbet rainbow, into Claire's not-so-waiting arms. "He'll stop thinking about fighting with you."

Oh, I'm rolling on the floor right now, laughing, of course.

Claire bites her bottom lip. I'm not sure if I like the fact that she is thinking this over. None of my potential hiding places have been dusted yet. She reaches over to the rack behind Daisy and picks out something black, kind of see-through, and obviously designed to be ripped off by one's teeth. "He'll like this one even better."

Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't be hiding in the trailer at all.

"You know, things really haven't been that bad between us lately," Claire offers. I'm not sure if she's trying to talk herself into or out of Daisy's master plan.

"So? It's not like things couldn't be better?"

"True," Claire replies. "There is something I wish he would budge on."

Please, please Claire, tell me you aren't talking about the fight over whether or not you should be allowed to help him take down the silly phantom circus. I don't want us involved any more in this mess.

"In this," Daisy holds up the black number, "He'll be eating out of the palm of your hand. It always works on Alex when he is in one of his moods." The girls do that pre-teens-at-a-sleepover gigging thing that always makes me cringe.

"Perfect," Claire says.

Damn. I know that look.

They say love is a ~~horrible pop song cliché~~ battlefield.

If Claire wants to play, he best get ready for war.

Sylar doesn't stand a chance.

-

Like all good movies,~~at least the ones her parents wouldn't let her see until she was sixteen~~, there's a sex scene.

She's desperate, homesick, and more than a little drunk off the knowledge departed from this afternoon's field trip. She's got this curl of tension low in her stomach. She'd give anything to go back to the semi-privacy ~~why the fuck hasn't he gotten that lock fixed yet~~ of their damn trailer and finger herself until the stars fall out of the sky. Or at least until she forgets.

Oh man, does she want to forget.

But he's there. He's always, always there.

A good thing for Daisy's plan, but probably not the best thing for her… you know, personally.

Still, she kisses him anyways. We're this far into it, why shut down production now?

"Claire," he groans the complaint, trying to avoid her wandering hands. He doesn't, if you notice, do anything else to stop her advances. His hands may lie at his sides, bunched up in the sheets of the bed, but his mouth doesn't back away from hers.

"Shut up. You know you want this."

And he _really_ does. Claire's known him long enough to discover that dirty little secret – that somewhere deep inside, he always thought of her as _his_. Maybe his touchstone for keeping to what the Company thought of as good? Or maybe just his prize for being the most powerful SOB in existence? I don't really profess to know what goes on in his twisted head.

All I do know is except for that one time after the Swirly Vortex IncidentTM, he's never brought it up. As much as I can tell he's obviously wanted too. And Claire has always been thrilled as punch to leave his not so little obsession in the past.

Until now, that is.

To dangle the forbidden fruit in front of him like this, all in its tantalizingly lacy package, let's just say it's not really a line I think she should be crossing.

Claire tightens her grip on the back of his hair and opens her mouth for him. From where she is straddling his waist, her hips rock against his. ~~So maybe it isn't solely his obsession~~.

"You're going to hate yourself in the morning," He almost sounds regretful. She almost feels bad about it.

It's a bit ~~ok, tons~~ self-destructive, but I guess that's ok with her, because her hands don't stop moving across his 'wow can you say washboard' abs. Self-hatred, ladies and gentlemen. Rinse, lather, and repeat as necessary.

"Not anymore than I already do," I don't know if this is a lie or not. It's not like it's my world that's vibrating right now.

She completely ignores the fact that this is supposed to be a game; she isn't supposed to go this far. Her fingers rake down his chest, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. They're heading towards…well, you know where.

Whoa.

Ok now, cover your eyes.

If this isn't a fade to black moment, I don't know what is.

-

Last night's money shot repeats in her head. In slow motion.

Her mother always tells her "remember what your knees are for." I am pretty much 100% positive that last night wasn't what she meant.

-

A couple days later, this time in Tennessee, it turns out she can't avoid Eli forever either.

Claire is helping some of the other candy butchers unpack their stands when Eli and a couple of his clones come bumbling over to separate Claire from the pack.

He starts off slow, if not with something Claire does not want to hear, "Samuel and I have been worried about you." I'm sure the worrying is mostly on his part. Samuel hasn't been around for a while. Not around Claire, at least.

"You don't have to do that," Claire tries to shake out of his grasp, but there are a few too many hands for her to get away from.

"Gabriel isn't good for you. He isn't making you happy."

Now that's just laugh out loud funny. If Sylar isn't making her happy, I really want to know what you can call last night… and this morning… and again in the shower after second-breakfast.

"We get along just fine."

Honey, from the sounds of the screaming, I wouldn't call it fine either.

"All I'm saying is that I could be much better for you." And then he leans ~~in for the kill~~ closer. It's a totally 'eww cooties!' moment.

"Get your hands off my wife."

Whoa, where did Sylar come from? Man, that guy has some sneaky reflexes. ~~Yeah, yeah, I get that that statement is totally ironic~~.

Eli doesn't let go right away and Sylar punches him, like _really_ punches him. You know, I don't think I've ever seen him fight without his powers before.

I'm trying not to laugh at the sight of Eli squirming on the ground, clutching his jaw and whining like a little baby, when Sylar tugs Claire away from the scene by the elbow. ~~In my head, he throws her over his shoulder caveman style~~. She only stumbles a little bit at the rushed pace he sets.

"Since when am I your wife?" I catch Claire say, as they hurry away.

"You'll always be mine," Sylar grunts out.

~~See, told you. Caveman~~.

-

If Claire's life was a romantic comedy - which it so is not - but for the sake of discussion - the casting department would first find her an amazing co-star, one she would have "I'm going to take you up against the closest flat surface" chemistry with.

It's a shame, really, that her life isn't. Because, her and Sylar…

~~Hey, guys. Back away from that refrigerator~~.

Absolutely. No. Chemistry.

Seriously.

~~ Separate corners of the room you two. I mean it~~.

-

Sylar pulls Claire back into the trailer. The door slams behind them, leaving me outside. I press my ear up against the door, but I can only hear part of the conversation.

"He's going to ruin everything."

I wonder when they're going to realize I'm still out here.

"Would you chill?"

Twenty bucks says at least one of them is pacing in there.

"He's going to ruin everything," I hear Sylar repeat again.

I'm starting to get the feeling he isn't talking about their grand "Operation: Circus Takedown" plan.

"I'll get rid of him. Don't worry."

"Not if I get to him first."

"Don't you dare!" There's a sigh and some various banging sounds. "Sylar. You are not going to kill anyone. Remember our deal."

"Fine. But get it done by tomorrow."

"First thing in the morning," Claire promises. "Wouldn't want to mess up the plan."

What plan? Come on, tell me.

Do you know?

"No, we wouldn't want that."

Yeah, that's great guys. I'll just stay here and fight off some windmills.

The door doesn't open again. I had to spend the night with elephants.

-

Pitchfork… $54.69  
Gasoline… $2.79 per gallon  
Lighter… $3.88

Driving your stalker out of town before your new husband kills him... Priceless.

-

The final battle. The climax. Call it whatever you want. You've been waiting long enough for it, let me tell you. Even I'm getting tired of watching you clutching your seven dollar bucket of popcorn against your chest, waiting for good and evil to finally face off. ~~Although in this movie it's more like evil and slightly more evil~~.

Claire insists on waiting until after the final show of the night, no matter how antsy Sylar was getting. I'm sure he would have preferred a much more blockbuster affair, instead of the independent movie Claire insists on putting on. Apparently, we've already gone over our 'people getting hurt' budget.

All the kiddies have wandered back home right in time for beddy-by. The set crew has started to take down the big top. Even most of the performers have wandered away to pack up for the night, as Samuel and Lydia go over the night's take. It's pretty much perfect timing on Team Sylaire's part.

Claire, quite discretely, filters the innocent parties away from the scene when Lydia looks up suddenly and surprised. One of her tattoos transforms into a bloody battle scene – complete with her and Samuel's glass-is-half-empty heads lolling on the ground front and center – right before our eyes. "No. It can't be. I would have seen it before now."

"Not if I, oh I don't know…" Sylar draws out, wickedly. Lydia's tattoo disappears along with the smirk on Samuel's face, "…had the power to take yours away?"

Awh, not the Haitian. He always brought me special treats.

It's then when Lydia stops Claire. Turning, she asks with all the faux-innocent a perpetually half-dressed woman can muster, "Oh Claire, no. Not you too. How can you side with him?"

"I have to, Lydia. Don't you see that? It's the right thing to do. I can't let you two create your own army and let you destroy people's lives like that."

"We have to take them down before they get to us. Don't you understand? They will never accept us otherwise," Samuel preaches, "We have to create our own place in this world."

"But you don't have to do it through violence."

Samuel shouts something more but movement out of the corner of my eye distracts me from catching the rest of his ~~I'm sure it was stunning~~ rebuttal. Were those men in black? With full-on combat gear? And the largest guns I've seen outside of Lyle's virtual gaming coma? Claire what did you get us into?

"Enough!" Sylar cuts them all off. He raises his hand from where he has Samuel and Lydia dead butterfly pinned in place and flings them up against the metal wall. "It doesn't matter what side is right. Only which one is stronger."

~~Well said. Can I quote you on that? Maybe put it on the movie posters?~~

The men in black get closer – seriously, tell me I'm not the only one seeing them – and closer until I can hear the click of their P-90s and practically feel their fingers twitching on the triggers. Sylar gives dead-bug-Samuel and puppet-Lydia one final serial killer smirk, before giving them one hardy knockout. ~~If there were spectators, I'm sure they would be cheering right now. You are, aren't you?~~

"Time to get out of here, babydoll. The cavalry has arrived." Sylar says. He reaches for me and Claire. I barely have time to realize he means Noah Bennet is here, somewhere among those men in black (and he's not supposed to know of our presence) before the world starts swirling around me.

-

The lights are dimming. The actors are lining up in the wings for their bows. Silly them, still under the impression that you're going to give them a standing ovation.

Little do they know how Sylar is going to ruin it.

-

When I open my eyes again, we're standing in the same parking lot this whole mess started in. Only Claire's car ~~and a few giant tumbleweeds~~ stand as proof that the haunted circus thing had even stopped down here.

"Job well done," He snarks. Sylar relinquishes his hold on us. He steps away, dusting his hands against the back of his jeans. The whole thing feels way to much like a goodbye. She never thought she would be that girl.

"Wait. You're leaving?" A mix of disbelief and anger colors her voice. It's a little desperate, even for her. Did we suddenly get a new actor to play Claire or is there something I'm missing? "After all of that, you're just leaving."

I guess I can understand her reaction. I mean his ~~feelings?~~ obsession with her always felt a little bit more permanent than a string of rolls in the hay.

"That is what it looks like, doesn't it." The screen directions for this must have 'sarcasm' capitalized, bolded, and double underlined.

She swears then, loud and graphic. I can't help but join Sylar in chuckling. Oh how times have changed. One week ago, she would have been pushing him in front of the car before driving off. ~~I'm not exactly sure who should be nominated for 'Most Fickle'~~. "So what? All of that talk about us being forever?"

Umm, duh. Everyone knows guys just say that stuff to get in your pants, Claire. Remember Brody ~~and West and Alex and Peter?~~

"No." Sylar corrects, with a slight smile.

Wait…no? Puh-lease.

"What do you mean no?"

"I wasn't lying to you. But you have to want this too."

"I do." Even I can pick up the slight waver in her voice that tells me she isn't completely sure about that.

"Let the crazy circus hocus pocus wear off. Then decide."

And then it comes to me: understanding. It must come to Claire too, because she doesn't put up anymore of a fight. They share a smile. "We've got forever."

The next scene is hers to write, and hers alone.

Finally.

Claire picks me up and starts walking towards her car. "Come on, Mr. Muggles. Time to go home."

-

Hey, don't come crying to me if you want your popcorn money back. I told you this wasn't a love story.


End file.
